Lia's Guide to Winning the Lottery (18 page)

‘For the thing we're going to,' I said. ‘Bye, Paula! See you later!'

‘Don't call me Paula!' she yelled after me.

Halfway down to the Broadway I paused. I didn't want to revisit the scene of my crime. Plus what if I bumped into Jack . . . or Jack's mum?

‘Where are we going?' I said.

Raf looked a bit confused. ‘What are we late for?'

‘We're not late for anything.'

‘You said, “We're going to be late.”'

‘Yes, but that was just for Paula's benefit.'

‘Who's Paula?'

‘Paula's my mum.'

‘In the papers they called her Sarah,' he said. Then
he kind of cleared his throat –
ahem
– and said, ‘I did read some of the papers this morning. I thought you were wonderful.'

‘Did you?'

‘You're so confident and kind, and you do what you want, and you don't care what anyone thinks. . .'

Somehow my hand was holding his. Somehow I was standing right next to him. And he tipped his head down to meet mine and we kissed again . . . right in the middle of the street . . . and again and again and. . .

‘Get a room!' someone yelled, and I looked over my shoulder. Dammit. That bitch Alicia.

Raf didn't seem to have heard her. He just stared down at me, his serious face breaking out into one of his rare smiles.

‘I found some flats for you,' he said. ‘We can go and look – if you'd like to. One in Hampstead, and one in Belsize Park.'

‘Oh yes, I'd
love
to,' I said, and I whipped out my phone and summoned a taxi. It arrived about five seconds later, driven by Osman, my regular driver, grey and morose as ever.

‘Reza's got me on permanent Lottery Girl standby,' he said, ‘although he's told me to warn you that we're
not having any food thrown around in our cabs. Lottery or no lottery. There are limits. Where to?'

Raf gave him the Hampstead address.

‘They're having an open morning to show them. Newly renovated, and they're huge. I thought you might like to go, just have a look. It'll give you some ideas.'

‘Humph,' said Osman. ‘I hope it won't give you too many ideas. Reza's very happy with your account, Miss Lia, very happy indeed. We don't want you moving to Hampstead.'

‘I'm just looking. Investments,' I said. ‘This is actually a private conversation, Osman.' Honestly! Whose money was it, after all?

It's surprising how many people are interested in viewing a two million pound flat on a Sunday morning. The shiny new kitchen was full, everyone nosing around, trying out the waste disposal unit and investigating the built-in coffee machine. I didn't get the impression that most of them could whip out a cheque book and pay the full amount. Unlike me.

The estate agent turned a tap. ‘Boiling water twenty-four/seven,' he said. ‘You'll never have to use a kettle again. And it's really eco-efficient. Look, with these buttons here you can work
the sound system for the whole flat.'

‘OMG, that's incredible,' I said, but Raf had wandered off. I found him out on the balcony, gazing over the green leaves of Hampstead Heath.

‘Sorry,' he said. ‘I don't like crowds.'

‘Are you OK?' He looked pale and tired.

‘I am now.' He smiled at me. ‘Do you like the flat? It's a bit too perfect for me.'

‘Too perfect?' I loved the shiny, fresh, newness of everything.

‘There's nothing to do to it. I'd want to find some old wreck of a place and make it nice. Make it into a home. It's too easy, moving into somewhere like this. It'd feel like you were living in a hotel.' He shivered.

‘Are you cold?' I asked, moving closer.

‘A bit, I suppose.'

My arms went around him, but then the door opened and the estate agent said, ‘And here we have the roof terrace, stretching along the entire side of the building and with a built-in barbeque pit and fantastic views – I'm sure you'll all agree – of the Heath.'

I was dying to see the barbeque pit, but Raf said, ‘Shall we go?' so I said, ‘Yes, OK. I don't really think it's worth the price, is it?'

‘Well, it probably is,' he said, ‘but you're spending
a lot of money on gadgets that will break down. I mean, who really needs a built-in sound system?'

Out on the street, he glanced at my boots. ‘Are you OK for a walk? Shall we go on the Heath? I want to get away from all those people.'

‘The Heath gets pretty busy,' I said, but he shook his head.

‘There are bits where you don't get many people. The main thing is to avoid that hill where people fly kites.'

‘Oh, right,' I said. Parliament Hill had been one of my favourite places since I was tiny. I loved picking out the landmarks on the skyline – the Post Office Tower, Canary Wharf, the London Eye on a clear day. My grandad used to take me there to fly a kite.

‘I think these boots are fine,' I said, ‘and if they get muddy I can always buy some new ones.'

And then I blinked. He'd disappeared. Where the hell was he?

I turned around, scanning the street. No sign of Raf. But he'd been right next to me. . . Hadn't he?

‘Here,' he said, appearing again from the door of a nearby shop. ‘I'm sorry.' And he handed me a kite, a beautiful red kite with a green tail.

‘Oh! But how . . . did you read my mind or something?'

‘I didn't need to,' he said. ‘Come on.'

And we ran all the way down the hill and onto the Heath, and we didn't stop running until we were halfway up the steep slope of Parliament Hill, when I got out of breath and had to collapse onto a bench, and it took us a bit of time to untangle ourselves and start walking again.

At the top of the hill – it was quite crowded, true – it was fresh and sunny, and you could see as far as Crystal Palace, and the wind was perfect for kite-flying. And Raf seemed to like watching me flying the kite, except I kept on turning round to look at him looking at me, which made the kite crash to the ground.

Then we walked and walked and he took me through the woods and into a little green patch, and there were no people and no dogs and everything was quiet and peaceful and there was only the rustling of the trees to disturb us. And he put his arm around me, and we cuddled up together and we didn't talk for a while.

‘I love it here,' he said eventually. ‘This is the kind of place that makes you want to be alive.'

I thought about this for a bit. Surely he meant ‘glad to be alive'? That's what people say.

‘Everything just goes away,' he said, ‘and nothing matters.'

He was right. I wasn't worrying about Donna or Jack or Shaz or Mum or Dad or anything.

‘What shall we do?' I asked him. ‘We can do anything we want. Let's go and do something.'

His hand was stroking my cheek, very gently. ‘Just here, just this is fine,' he said.

‘I know, it's great, but we could do anything, Raf! We could go to the theatre, we can go and eat out, we could go shopping. What do you want to do?'

He laughed. ‘I can't do anything much. That kite used up all my cash.'

‘I'll pay! Come on, Raf, let's go and spend some money. Look, Shaz won't take any money from me. It's really awkward with Jack right now. So you'd really be doing me a favour.'

‘Is it awkward with Jack because of his mum? Or because you think he's going to sue you?'

‘Both,' I said. ‘Everything. I can't explain. It's horrible when someone's your good friend and then you're not sure if you can trust them any more.'

‘I wouldn't know,' he said, ‘but don't worry about the money. He can't sue you. I looked it up on the internet. As long as it was only your name
written on the back of the ticket and not his.'

‘It was just my name. It was
my
ticket.' My eyes filled with tears. ‘It was a present, Raf, that's all, just a present. If I hadn't won anything it would have just been a bit of rubbish in my bag, just a joke birthday present, just nothing. Nothing special.'

‘It's OK, his mum is wasting her time,' he said. He kissed the top of my head, pressing his lips to my curls. His voice was a bit muffled. ‘No name, no case.'

‘Really?'

‘I think so.'

‘Gilda will know for sure.'

‘Why don't you call her?' said Raf.

‘Are you sure? OK.'

I pulled out my phone and called her.

‘Lia!' said my Winners' Adviser. ‘I've been trying you all morning. What on earth's been happening?'

‘Oh, errr, nothing. Jack's mum was a bit upset. Gilda, can she sue me?'

‘For throwing a pie at her? She could, I suppose, but she'd look very foolish.'

‘No, for the money. She says Jack's entitled to half the money because he bought the ticket for me.'

‘Well, again, she could try suing you, but her name
wasn't on the back of the ticket, and nor was Jack's. So I wouldn't worry too much.'

‘Oh, phew,' I said.

‘But Lia, perhaps we should have a chat about what's been going on. Throwing pies—'

‘Oh, thanks Gilda, that's so much help. Bye for now,' I said hastily, switching off the phone.

I grabbed Raf's hand. ‘You're right! Wow! Let's go and spend some money!'

Chapter 19

Expensive handbags are a liability.

Raf was rubbish at spending. Whatever I suggested, he looked awkward and offered a cheaper alternative.

In the end, I said firmly, ‘No, I do not want to have a sandwich, or go to McDonalds.'

I dragged him into a Chinese and ordered dim sum before he could object.

He dithered a bit, but once he started eating he seemed to forget whatever it was that was bothering him. He was brilliant with chopsticks – so unlike Jack, who always demanded a fork – and he ate so much that I had to order some more.

‘What shall we do next?' I said, pulling out my phone. ‘Shall we see what's on tonight . . . music . . . theatre, even . . . clubs. . .'

‘It's Sunday,' said Raf, reaching for the soy sauce. ‘There won't be much.'

He was right. How annoying.

‘Mmm . . . we could go and look at some shops, I suppose,' I said.

‘OK, if you want to.'

He sounded about as enthusiastic as if I'd suggested a trip to the dentist for a quick bleach – not that his shining white teeth needed any cosmetic work, but I had been thinking about Americanising my slightly English gnashers.

‘We don't have to if you don't want to,' I said. ‘I thought you might like shopping.'

‘Why? Me? No!' He looked as if I'd accused him of paedophilia.

‘Well, I don't know. You just might. You look like you care about clothes.'

‘I hate clothes shops, and everyone who works in them and shops in them, and everything to do with them,' he said.

‘Yes, but the expensive ones, they're different. No queues, and people pick things out for you, and give you drinks and stuff.'

‘Those are the worst,' he said gloomily. I'd taken his appetite away. He'd abandoned his chopsticks.

‘If you don't like shops, then where do you get all your clothes from?' I asked. I could've said, Your
designer, expensive, stylish, beautiful clothes. Your brand name, labelled, cooler than cool, show-off clothes. Your rich and sexy clothes. Your. . .

‘They were all just given to me,' he said. ‘I didn't think you liked shops like that. You always wear stuff that looks like you've picked it up at a jumble sale or something and it doesn't matter, in fact it looks good, because you look good in everything.'

‘Oh!' I wasn't sure whether this was a massive compliment or a huge insult. ‘Well, it's true I've always been more into vintage in the past. It's only recently that I've been to a few of these designer shops, just for the experience you know. . .'

‘If people knew how these shops rip them off, they wouldn't bother,' said Raf, stabbing a dumpling savagely with his chopstick. ‘Look, it doesn't matter what I think. We can go shopping if you like.'